Faileas Stormguard stood outside the building that housed the guild's forge. He'd been there most of the day, toiling in the heat, sharpening and fixing the weapons that were stored in the armory within the hall. Finally finished, he let himself enjoy the feel of the crisp autumn air against his sweat-damp skin and clothing. He sucked in a lungful of it, a smile tugging at his lips as he caught the scent of woodsmoke and roasting pork. His gaze fell upon the guild keep nearby where a plume rolled lazily from the largest chimney in the common hall. He could almost picture the guild cook, doting over her roast and smacking away the hands of her guildmates who tried to steal a bite before it was done.

He chuckled warmly as he gave the building he'd erected so very long ago with hope and purpose a once over. The cozy two story lodge was nestled protectively away between the Silverpine Mountains, the sea, and the forests of Tirisfal Glade. It also stood tenuously wedged between Sylvanas' iron-fisted expansion and the ever-encroaching Gilnean forces. It may have been hidden away well, but he still couldn't help but worry that the brewing war might someday spill into this peaceful place and onto their doorstep.

He sighed, lost for a moment in memory. He remembered how at one point he had held the respected position as General to the Banshee Queen. How he had been a stout and loyal ally when they had shared a common enemy in the Lich King, but then after Arthas' fall Sylvanas had changed. Without that goal to drive her, she'd become unhinged, tyrannical even to the point that she'd begun to turn herself into everything they'd fought so long against. So he'd resigned, unable to pledge his support with good conscious any longer. Then, when the great cataclysm had shaken the world and Deathwing had raised his ugly head, he'd pledged himself to Wyrmrest Accord and had served dutifully until the flights had broken apart and his services were no longer required.

It was true that he had devoted himself to many true and good causes in his life, but never had he felt such a calling as he had since he'd taken up the mantle of leadership here. His thoughts strayed to each and every guild mate. Family wasn't always about blood. Sometimes it was the people in your life who wanted you in theirs; the ones who accepted you for who you are. Friends. This place and those who dwelt within it were what was truly important to him. The people he loved and called family and friends. They were worth fighting for. He smiled as he made his way towards the keep, the sound of laughter and warm voices carrying to him on the wind from the open windows. He knew now, more than ever, that this was his purpose. This was where he belonged. This was home.

Elkin sat on the stones before the lake, looking at the waters closely. At first his intent was to play his flutes, and spend the day in the wilds after having a tough week. His shoulders were still sore from the arrows that had been embedded deeply into his flesh, that he ripped out and tended to on his own. He had never been so irritated that nobody decided to assist him. After all, growing up with orcs and serving as a gladiator for them had toughened him up- but in his new military order he expected fair treatment from the other worgen. Like his old pack, they were rather ignorant of his presence. Not to mention the week prior over half of his pantheon of pets had been slain due to Elkin's negligence to recognize any problems among them. They didn't fall in battle against enemies.. they fell in battle against each other. He lost some of his most dearest pets that day, only adding to the sorrows that remained from the loss of his favorite.. Ursot, the bear.

He was lost in thought, thinking about everything that had happened. Was he a true hunter? Especially when he was constantly put to shame by one of his guildmates, an archer, who had only four beasts with her and held a tight connection with. Was he as bonded to his pets as she was? The young worgen sighed, peering into his reflection. Constantly, he'd ask himself what was worth fighting for. What was worth living for. His ears flattened. The eleven year old could barely hit a mark, or keep himself from trouble without needing the help of a creature at his side. He desperately wanted to be more than what he was now, pulled back from his incessant string of failures...

He recalled the times when Ursot was still around. The bear was a true guardian, not only protecting Elkin, but his other animal friends as well. He didn't do it only because it was right. He did it they were his friends, his family. He knew very well how important family was, and Elkin knew that, too, as the bear had lost his brother only just before rescuing the child. Despite bringing the youngling to tears remembering that Ursot could've led an amazing life, with such a legend behind him, only for it to end so soon, he was beginning to answer the question in his mind. These animals were his family. There were still some left saving, and he was determined to keep his pets from harm, strengthened from the loss of the other beasts among them. He would learn from his mistakes, and come out a much better hunter than he already was.

The wind howled as it whipped across the jagged landscape of Argus, causing eyes to water and stealing what little heat could be found in the Krokuun wastes. The golden crystals of the shattered fields shifted underfoot, making balance an uncertain prospect at best. Commander Sathrenael of the burning legion had no such concerns as he stomped after the annoying flea who had interfered with his troops' efforts in the area, crushing the crystals into a fine powder under his bulk. When he grew near his quarry, his heavy mace slammed down with massive force, sending shock waves rippling through the loose terrain.

Every time he thought he had the damnable creature, yet every time he struck he felt not the satisfying squish of tender flesh yielding to his weapon, only the vexing crack as more of the crystalline field was reduced to powder. Also, every time he missed he felt the sting of arcane missiles slipping through the small gaps in his armor, drawing blood and angering him ever further as his magic using quarry blinked away and took pot shots at him. It didn't matter though, with each repetition of their deadly dance the elf grew more tired, more winded and weakened from the wound he had taken in the initial moments of their combat when a shard, sent spinning randomly from his mace had embedded itself in the elf's side.

"Give up, little elfling. You cannot hope to best the legion," Sathrenael growled as he closed in on the fleeing mageling once more, equally annoyed with his stinging wounds and impressed with how long the elf had delayed his inevitable defeat. "You cannot even hope to survive the next few moments. So tell me, why do you fight?"

As he asked, Sathrenael saw his opening and swung his mace horizontally, sending a wave of loose crystals showering into the mage's path and slamming into his back. The elf tumbled to the ground, his crimson and black hood flung from his head in the sudden violence, the fire in his azure eyes clear even through the goggles that obscured them. Throwing forth a hand he was barely able to conjure up a shield before Commander Sathrenael's mace would have crushed him. The impact sent the elf skipping over the ground before he rolled to a stop precariously close to the cliff edge of the world, the fel fire core of the world yawning hungrily below and behind him.

"Why?" Maij Ansen asked, regaining his feet with a grunt and pained whimper. He shook his head to clear his mind, his spiky shock of white hair defying gravity as it always did. "That's why!" He said, flinging a finger up and pointing to where Azeroth sat in the sky, the blue globe spinning merrily on the knife's edge of destruction as it had since the beginning of time. "So that that corrupted, flawed, insane mess of a world can live. So that the idiots of both factions can go about killing themselves and each other in peace. Because there has to be someone willing to take a stand, to look into the darkness and cast defiance even in the very teeth of Sargeras himself!"

Typical, Sathrenael thought, rolling his eyes and snorting derisively. There always had to be some sort of misguided hero type. Well, this battle would be over soon enough and he could get on to crushing the next fool that raised their head. Cracking his neck and giving the mace a test swing, he charged the elf who was clearly at his limit.

Maij gathered what little energy he had left and cast it at the rampaging demon.

Sathrenael roared in triumph as Maij's aim proved off and the magical attack sank into the ground harmlessly in front of him. Gathering himself, he leapt into the air, bringing his mace down upon the pathetic creature before him. At the zenith of his leap the ground where the mage had wasted his shot exploded, sending a hailstorm of stone and razor sharp crystals airborne. While the missiles couldn't harm the commander, encased in his armor as he was, they added to his momentum, changing his trajectory and sent him flying over the cliff's edge into the tainted green abyss below.

His cursing took five minutes to fade as he plummeted.

Maij smiled a grim smile, lifting his hood back atop his head and stretched out a hand, sending a whisper of power out. A red and black staff, its head in the shape of a stylized dragon heeded his call and flew to him through the air before settling lightly in his open hand. Lifting his eyes into the sky once more he looked to Azeroth, that stupid insignificant world that was his home, and smiled, confident in the fact that it would continue to spin on in it's twisty little path through the great dark for at least one day more.

The wind at this height would be enough to throw even the most balanced of person to their death, though the Blood Elf Demon Hunter that perched like a vengeful gargoyle on the Dalaran wall cared nothing for that. It was hard to, when you've faced demons twenty times your size and height, and on occasion, multiples at the same time. It also helped when wings were involved, as was the ever-watchful eye of her onyx Netherwing, Malphas. Even under the black cloth blindfold, Ebony's eyes burned brightly with a restrained hatred as she stared up at the impossibly-close visage of Argus. All that her brothers-and-sisters-in-arms had worked for had led up to this point; all that they had sacrificed, all those that had fallen, had led up to them finally striking the final blow to the Legion.

And she had gotten left behind.

Her dark wings flared out sharply from the folded position they'd rested in on her back and the fel green runes etched onto them shimmered in the darkness. A sudden scream of fury escaped her throat -- it was probably a good thing that not many wandered this particular area of the city, or else they would've had the fright of their lives. The other Demon Hunters had claimed that the injury she'd gotten while delving into the Tomb was what held them back from taking her along, but she knew better. She had a weakness that extended beyond her wounded leg.

"Somehow I knew you'd be the person screaming at the sky at two in the morning." The amused female voice that echoed hollowly from the ground behind her was not a surprise, nor was the chilled body that sat down next to her on the wall after a few moments of scaling up it. Ebony's wings fell limp, covering the stone around her like a draped blanket. "You're still unhappy they had you stay behind to help clean up the demons on the Isles?"

"Furious would be a better term," she replied, only looking over at the person who had joined her when she felt the light touch of icy fingers against her shoulder. "I want to be there--" she waved a hand to the sky where the nightmarish planet loomed, "On the front lines that we've fought so hard to get to. And they have me cleaning up the backwash that still clings to the fight down here! How is that fair, Ivory?"

Her sister -- her blood sister -- was a stark contrast to everything that Ebony was: white hair mirrored the Demon Hunter's black, skin as pale as winter, plate armor that glowed as brightly as moonlight, and runeblades that were etched with frost rather than fel. The Scourge destroying her family had been what had driven Ebony to joining Illidan, the need to take her sorrow and rage out on something all-encompassing, but with everything, it seemed like both sisters had the oddest trouble of staying dead.

"I'm supposed to be there too, you know. You're not the only one allowed to feel resentment at being left to clean up the Legion's mess," Ivory pointed out, letting her hand fall back to her lap. Ebony snarled something in Demonic, her eyes trailing back up towards Argus, though her clothed gaze returned to the Death Knight next to her a minute later, along with a bitter scowl. "Don't give me that look, you know I'm right. Besides, the only reason you want to be on the front lines is because Tobias is up there."

The Demon Hunter spluttered a moment, her expression indignant. "He's my commander, of course I want to fight alongside him!" The look on Ivory's face showed how that reaction amused her greatly, though she didn't continue with that line of thought, instead turning her gaze out towards the Isles below them before letting her gaze also drift towards Argus, a hum escaping her throat.

"Whether you're on Argus helping to subvert the Legion directly, or down here on the Isles making sure that none of them linger and cause havoc, you're still doing what you've sacrificed for, are you not? Either way, you're cutting through Legion ranks, spilling demon blood..." The Death Knight fell silent for a few moments, her gaze distant. "You're still fighting, because of me." They both sat there staring up at Argus as the silence stretched between them, and it took a few minutes before one of Ebony's black wings unfurled and wrapped itself around Ivory, pulling her close to her sister's body, despite the Death Knight's chilly temperature.

Above her, rain fell in sheets that blanketed the ground, and thunder lazily rolled across the sky in loud rumbles that shook the earth. The sky was ebon, a rich black laced with lightning and the promise of more to come. For a wanderer, the encroaching storm may have been a prompt to turn back and find shelter. For others, they may have instead found somewhere to watch and marvel at such a spectacle. Storms in Desolace were common, but usually only of the dry variety. The barren wasteland was susceptible to fires that sparked up from lightning hitting the bone dry grass, and large, sun bleached bones littered the arid landscape. When the wind howled, it would rush through the remains of long gone giants, perhaps emulating the sounds the dying creatures had once made in life. A rain storm in such a place was a herald from above; a sign that better days were to be seen.

However, Krysteena wasn't there for any of that.

Indeed, she'd barely noticed the storm - at least, only when her armour had begun to plaster to her lithe form, had she even cast a secondary glance up at the sky. The Blood Elf, a self-proclaimed mercenary if there ever was one, wasn't to put aside her hunt because of bad weather. In fact, she even hoped that the weather would slow down her adversary, and she'd finally make up for lost time after a landmass she'd intended to cross had collapsed into the canyon below. The tracks on the other side had told her that the one she was chasing had managed to pass before the collapse, and could have been long gone by the time Krysteena had found another way across.

Yet, she'd made it across in good time, and the Blood Elf was proud of her accomplishment. Of course, traversing the landscape would have been easier atop her dragonhawk, but she considered that 'cheating'. This adversary she sought was her own game; her own hunt. She'd spent years upon years of hunting for those too afraid, too passive or too cowardly to spill blood onto their own hands. Now, she considered this her own moment of fun. She saw it as revenge for what the beast had done to her in the heat of battle - and the debt that had been made that day would be repaid in blood.

Krysteena slowly flicked her tongue out, feeling along her upper lip for the familiar groove that was cast into her otherwise porcelain skin. The tissue was mangled and scarred, and travelled from her upper lip through to her right eye. A flaw on something already less than perfect, the injury had cost Krysteena something more important than any sort of lover's interest. The emerald green of her left eye was not shared unto her right, which had instead turned a sickly white colour beneath the permanent fixture of telltale fel corruption. Her eyesight was lost in that eye and, while she had been able to recover most of her sense of depth and perception, the injury wasn't to ever fully recover. She would forever be a mangled mess on one side, and even an eyepatch couldn't hide the rest of her face. She'd dealt with the humiliation that had come after the physical pain had long since died down to a dull aching. She'd kept going, and she would continue to keep going. In that battle, she had spilt the blood of the worgen, too, and now she would follow that trail to the end.

Perhaps tracking her prey across continents was 'petty', or 'a waste of time', but Krysteena would be damned if she didn't make them pay for what they'd done to her. An eye for an eye, went the saying. Krysteena didn't just want an eye. She wanted the whole life of the worgen who had taken from her. That was what she was there for, and that was what she would achieve. No storm, no matter how loud it roared and no matter how much the lightning threatened to stop her in her tracks, Krysteena would keep pushing. Previously, she had paused to focus on the ground below her. Tracks. She'd seen tracks. Not only that, but she'd seen blood that had been fresh, and she'd known she was getting close.

Ahead of her, amidst the sheets of rain that plummeted, a howl then sounded. It was low; a mere whisper of what it could have been. But, for Krysteena, that was all that she needed. The pack mentality would always be the downfall of the worgen, and, as another howl went up, she felt a sudden rush of adrenaline flood her system. Felrius, her hunting companion, was nearby, and he, too, had heard the worgen. No doubt he had the scent now, and he would continue to push forward with as much determination and outright stubbornness as his master. Sickly in appearance, the low-walking and gangly wolf was still an alpha in his own right, and he seemed to share many of the traits that Krysteena appreciated, but rarely found in anyone tolerable.

Now, though, he had given her that edge. The end of the trail was drawing near, and the blood was still fresh. The dice had been rolled, and the odds were in her favour. Tonight, everything that she had been bent on working towards would come to fruition, and it would all be over.

Until, of course, she found another target, because that was what she lived for. Krysteena loved the thrill of the hunt. The chase, the danger, the inevitable clash, and the fight at the climax of her trail. Everything about it was intoxicating, and once she set her mind on something, Krysteena would do anything to get what she wanted. While revenge was a heavy thought on her mind, this worgen, alongside all other adversaries she had faced and bested, would just be another cog in an ever-turning wheel. The hunt was never-ending, and Krysteena would drop dead before she even considered giving up.

(( and I call that ending 'I should have stopped two paragraphs ago but I kept going anyway' ))

It had been mere moments since the last voices invaded the druid's mind. The last one had truly stuck to them. "Who are your real friends?" the old god had asked them. Sarnor contemplated this, as they usually did everyday, however now they were focused on it so clearly. They were in owlcat form, like always, unable to shift into their worgen from without unbearable pain. They traced a claw over each of their antlers, one of them torn in half, while the other had a hole in it from being shot through. They reminded themself.. this is what a "friend" did. The rogue had so arrogantly given herself the title of "Tamer of Druids" after nearly beating the life out of Sarnor. They assumed the others would have done just the same.. until they remembered the time when they had almost gone feral once in the Blue Recluse. Their friends refused to hurt them, merely encasing the paws in ice so they couldn't harm anyone themself.

The druid had completely overlooked these people, bothered by the fact their closest friends had left them so long ago, and that some still leave now to hang out a with a more.. as they put it, "well rounded druid." Sarnor grunted, beginning to talk to themself- a habit they had not outgrown since birth. They only hoped the sleeping dragon beside them wouldn't hear anything. Their voice barely a whisper, they spoke, "She isn't even that nice of a drruid. She has an attitude, and flirrts with everryone.. even though she's mated. Who would even love a girrl like that?" they growled. The fact that two of their most trusted companions desired to spend time with another druid rather than Sarnor, and that it was making them feel so irritatingly jealous, was maddening. If it wasn't for the feral and old god voices they already heard, they might as well be driven insane by everyone's lack of sympathy for them.

"Why must they always have to abandon me?" Sarnor shifted uncomfortably. "Do I even have frriends...?" they questioned, ears flattened. Their head tilted upward, still hoping they could see the walls of the cavern- but to no avail. They were still getting used to having no eyes. And with that, they were blind to those who really did care for them- so concentrated on dwelling in the past of their former allies. "I think you are unaware of the present, Sarnor." a voice spoke. The druid immediately turned their head towards the voice, finding it was only Andrestrasz. "How? I recognize one of my newest frriends nearrly shot me in the head yesterrday." their tone had risen from a whisper, and they were growling again.

"One of them also healed your wounds, as she always does." the dragon offered a smile, despite knowing the druid couldn't see it. "You've been ignorant to the other ones." he placed a talon around the gigantic owlcat, pulling them closer. Sarnor squirmed a bit, but made no effort to escape. They sighed, "They will never amount to the rest.. How can I even trust their word, when they say they will never let anything happen to me? Promise never to leave me, as the rest did as well.. yet still left?" they became rather hurt. Never had something troubled them so much as it did now. "Look, Sarnor," Andre began, his eyes somber, "I know you've been hurt before. I know it will be very hard for you to learn how to trust these new people who accompany you..."

Sarnor whined, silenced by a huff from the red dragon. "But you need to give them a chance- give me a chance. You'll never know anything until you let them try to prove it to you. Stop living in the past, and focus on the present." he smiled again. "You are a wise druid, however, you center your attention to much on the wrong things. Ignore that druid- if those two were your friends they wouldn't have left you for her. And most importantly, stop saddening yourself with your past. You really need to move on..." Andre pat Sarnor on the head, unable to contain a chuckle- he found it so silly that this was what was bothering such an intimidating creature. However he tried not to make it apparent he was laughing at them. He knew well enough how much damage they could cause- even to him, a dragon!

"And I'm sure you can live up to what you want to be, if you try, yourself. I know you'll be a great druid in time." he finished, patting them again. He allowed Sarnor to take a moment to absorb what all he had said. The druid got lost in thought once more, and it took so long before they could properly thank the dragon he had already fallen back asleep. They snickered quietly. He was right, though.. They couldn't doubt him. He was, after all, such a great teacher for them.. He wasn't just an acquaintance anymore. None of them were. Andre's words had helped Sarnor see through it all- these people were their friends, as was he. And Sarnor was ready to give them a chance.

Shimistra Darkwalker sat in silence, her expression unreadable and her gaze fixed firmly upon the flickering flames of the campfire. The light cast long shadows across her lovely face.

Beside her, Faileas Stormguard knelt, tending to the hearth as he carefully arranged more logs onto the pyre. She watched as embers danced their way skyward, slowly dissipating as they were consumed by the chill night air. She shifted a bit and winced slightly as she did so. Her hand moved to gingerly touch the bandaged injury at her side.

"You know Fail..." She finally spoke, breaking the silence between them. "I had that situation completely under control."

Faileas gave her a side-long glance as he stoked the flames with the tip of his runic blade. "I'm not entirely sure what your definition of 'under control' is, but you were about to be executed by that cultist."

Shimistra frowned. "It's not the first time someone has tried to kill me." She retorted.

Faileas chuckled dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "Knowing how much trouble you constantly get yourself into, it won't be the last time either."

A smile slowly spread across Shimistra's lips as she settled herself carefully down upon her bedroll. "Yeah. You're probably right."

Silence fell between them for several long moments before she spoke once more. "Thanks for coming after me."

This time it was Faileas' turn to smile. "Always." He replied without hesitation. "My life wouldn't be nearly as exciting without you in it." He admitted honestly, his tone filled with warmth.

Shimistra looked over at her oldest and dearest friend for a long moment, then she reached out and laid a hand over his before she let her eyes drift shut. "Indeed it wouldn't." She agreed, before slipping off into slumber with a smile upon her lips.

2.) FRIENDSHIP - Tell a story about your character and a friendship they have.

The sound of slow wing strokes caused the Worgen perched on the thick treebranch in The Dreamgrove to flick his ear, muzzle lifting up from where he'd been watching the animals down below. The white-and-black Lunarwing that landed next to him caused the branch to dip and bounce dangerously, though neither large owl nor Worgen seemed concerned by the movement. "Took you long enough to show up, Ella," James hummed, watching as the Lunarwing shifted and morphed into the form of a lithe, brown-furred Worgen female, garbed in bird-like armor. Said female huffed out a growl, casting a small glare in James' direction.

"You never specified which tree in the Grove you wanted to meet in! Do you know how many damn trees there are?" she snapped back, drawing a chuckle from the black-furred male. Both fell silent for a second before Ella spoke once more. "Jay isn't happy with you, y'know."

"Neither are Zeke and Toby. There's a lot that Jay still needs to get used to and learn. The best we can do is make sure that she does learn it, preferably before someone gets an arm gnawed off," James replied, shifting to rest his elbows against his knees, paws clasping together as he pensively stared down at the myriad of wildlife bounding around and playing in the glen below them. "She's headstrong for a Night Elf no matter her age, and Zeke and Toby are barely out of their teens, and rambunctious to boot. They're basically still pups. She just needs to learn how to handle the teenage energy they still have."

Ella snorted at that, shaking her head slightly. "When this friendship started, I wasn't exactly expecting to have to tote around a ragtag family pack of Druids on top of it," she said, the corner of her mouth twitching.

That got an actual laugh from James, and he turned his head to look over at Ella, a fanged grin spreading on his face. "Isn't that what friends are for?" he asked, the grin on his face contagious as it had also spread to Ella's expression.

"I suppose so, as dysfunctional as our little family seems on the outside. No amount of sweet talk is going to get you out of talking with Jay, I hope you realize. I'm not the one she's irate with."

2. FRIENDSHIP - Tell a story about your character and a friendship they have.

Maij had a bad habit of chewing on his quill when he was thinking. That was why he usually forewent such delicate writing implements when he had a particularly tough nut to crack. The problem of miniaturizing a high enough energy source to empower a personal shielding unit was simple enough. The process to have it miniaturized and both powerful enough for continuous activation and stable enough not to blow up after a few moments was proving infinitely more difficult.

As he was thinking on the conundrum an impact rattled the walls of the keep he sat in. Shaking his head he ignored it, only to be jarred out of his thoughts as it repeated itself over and over in a slow rhythmic staccato. Thump, wait. Thump, wait. Like some sort of irritating clockwork. Pushing his goggles up to rest atop his head, he pinched his nose and set out to see what was causing that blasted thumping.

He didn't have to go far, only out to the courtyard, where he found a large green orc dutifully throwing the head of a fel reaver that dwarfed the both of them combined at the spell fortified wall of the keep, one of the omnipresent bunnies of Klorf's fluffle looking on and cleaning it's ears with its paws.

"Ah, that explains everything," Maij nodded safely. "Well, once 'it am smash' don't forget to clean up after it. We wouldn't want any bunnies hurt by the debris left over." He left the orc to it, his mind already wrapped back up in the power supply problem he had.

In the courtyard the steady strikes continued. Maij couldn't help but sigh as he regained his seat. The noise wasn't continuous, but it was more than enough to keep his concentration good and scrambled.

"Wait just a minute..." Maij muttered to himself. Maybe that was the key! Instead of a constant power source, what if he alternated the current? He tapped the quill to his lip a few times then began scribbling furiously, caught in the throes of a breakthrough. Holding the paper up a few minutes later he could feel a grin splitting his lips. "Klorf, you mad moronic genius!"

The young worgen growled furiously. The rogue had failed him yet again. If anything vexed him more, it was defeat and those unwilling to submit to him. He understood it more in animals, in fact, going as far as to earn their trust. However, with humanoids, oh.. he would get so angry. He paced around the den, impatiently awaiting the rogue to return. His giant raptor, Zilla, was perched on a pile of skulls, watching his master tirelessly. "First you fail me and now you can't even make the effort of showing up on time..." Elkin clenched his fists, ready to shoot something. That was when a much larger worgen, garbed in slick black armor and bearing glowing purple daggers, peeked through the entrance.

"Elkin?" he murmured, stepping into the cave. He slowly approached the hunter, knowing he was pissed. He bowed gracefully and placed his hands behind his back. He didn't quite know what to say, until he was gripped by the collar of his breastplate and pulled down to Elkin's level. "What happened this time?!" he roared in the rogue's face. "Wolfurk.. you are just about useless! Now, explain yourself!" his fur was bristled. "I got ganged up on. There was no way I could risk it!" Wolf pulled away, growling back at the kid. "Why don't you do some of this yourself instead of hiring me to do it?" he reached out to grab Elkin now but the hunter put a tight hold on his arm, pulling it back- and nearly breaking it. Wolf howled in pain as his "lord" spoke...

"Do you forget you came crawling to me, expecting to be payed better than the fools you worked for a long time ago?" the youngling replied, his tone clearly portraying his irritation. Wolf was without words for a moment, knowing he was right. He jerked his arm away, rubbing it from the pain, "Well... I don't like the idea of working for a child, anyway. Maybe I should just quit!" he said threateningly, but his words were not taken in the way he wanted them to. Elkin backhanded him, snarling, "Do you recall what happened to the one before you who wouldn't follow my orders?" he motioned to the skull pile, one of which belonged to a former assassin. "You dare not defy me, Wolfurk! Or the pile will be your consequence."

The rogue placed a paw on the side of his face, red as fire. His ears flattened. Cautiously, and quietly, he nodded and responded with a, "Yes, sir..."

~

Zilla was quite annoyed, himself, that he didn't have the opportunity to crush the rogue. However, he kept his emotions to himself, and laid down on the pile. His eyes were still open, watching his master sit beside him on a make-shift throne, and listening intently incase he spoke. Elkin was slipping back into his normal, reserved self. He sighed, covering his face. "Damn it all." he whined. "The orcs have changed me. For better, or for worse, I wonder..." he said softly. He was completely comforted by the presence of the animals around him, and especially Zilla. He was still bothered by the rogue's disobedience earlier, if not by his own voluntary personality and lack of self-control.

Most of his peeves were of his actions and unsuccessfulness. Some were of people who pet his companions without asking, or people who talked down to him. He knew he was a kid- he didn't need to be reminded. Nor called, "cute", "fuzzy little puppy", or anything else. He sunk into his throne, deep in thought, and habitually petting the head of the raptor next to him. The dinosaur let out a low grumble, as if imitating a purr. He was astounded by the fact that his druid friend, Sarnor, had really no peeves at all! Or was just good at hiding them...

Elkin wanted to be like them. Calm, collected, and bothered by virtually nothing. He frowned, upset he was not as wise and tranquil as they were. Now he was finding so much more that aggravated him. He decided to stop thinking about such things, and focus on keeping himself happy with the animals that remained amongst him, knowing he would get over these peeves in time.

((Reserving this spot to post later. For some reason I'm having a hard time figuring out what to write for this one. I'll come back to it later. Also, I'm loving all the stories so far and can't wait to read more! ♥))

(( These two are kinda rushed because I missed yesterday, and I've got an assignment I should be doing instead. Both no. 2 and 3 are here, though. I refuse to miss a day this early on. Also, considering Krys doesn't like many things, the pet peeves one was surprisingly difficult :') ))

FRIENDSHIP - tell a story about your character and a friendship they have

Taverns were Kyrsteena's least favourite place. She hated the scent, the overwhelming amount of people, and she even hated the floorboards and the hard chairs that were bowing at the legs from whatever Tauren had decided to sit themselves there. She could only ever stand a few minutes in such a pungent smelling place before she had to leave and take a breather outside. Alcohol didn't smell good, and it especially didn't smell good on the breath of a loud and obnoxious Orc, who had decided that trying to keep the lone Blood Elf company was his calling for that night.

In short, Krysteena had left the tavern with Felrius in tow, and had instead moved out to the small cropping of trees in the distance. It was a far enough walk that she'd be able to get back quickly, but the trees had apparently befuddled the Orc that had tried to follow her, and he'd gone back inside where the roaring of laughter echoed through the rugged building. For some, it was home. For Krysteena, it definitely wasn't home of any kind, and the sooner she could return to the Hunter's Lodge, the better. At least there people had a respect for personal space, and the only ones that ignored such space were the beasts that followed their masters. She could deal with that.

"You're just going to hate Brewfest," came a voice from behind her, and Krysteena whirled around with a vicious expression on her face, and her hand already moving towards her bow. Felrius was right beside her, and so should have warned her of the encroaching stranger. However, he was instead looking expectantly at the newcomer, and, upon closer inspection of who this newcomer was, Krysteena realised that it was probably a good idea that Felrius hadn't gone for him.

Adox. A rather unorthodox Blood Elf by even her standards, he was built even more lithe and small than most others of their kind. Being a mage may have owed to that, alongside Adox's persistence in not fighting on the frontline, or even learning to fight hand-to-hand. He was a scholar, instead, and a good one at that. His strangely friendly expression was a bemused one, and a shock of red hair tumbled down past his shoulders and slightly swayed in the wind. His clothes, not at all suited for any kind of battle, were plain, but had a flair to them that Krysteena otherwise tried to avoid in her own armour.

"And you're going to get yourself killed if you keep sneaking up behind people," Krysteena retorted, sniffing sharply and looking Adox up and down. "Felrius would consider someone as small as you a toothpick."

Adox was either used to her otherwise snarky demeanour, or was just completely oblivious to what she meant. Either way, he flashed her a grin, and instead reached out to lightly punch her arm. "If I was that good at sneaking up on you, then Felrius would have eaten me. If he had tried that then he'd be a bit more singed around the edges." There was no malice there, and Adox even went as far as to pat Felrius on the head. The black wolf had no quarrels, and his tongue lolled out in some kind of wolfish grin. He definitely didn't mind the mage. Adox often brought him snacks; and snacks meant good.

Krysteena narrowed her eyes at Adox, but the expression fell quickly enough, and instead a rare smile graced her features. It wasn't the most attractive expression, owing more to her personality than the scar on her right side, but it was a smile nonetheless. She then reached out and gave Adox a shove back, perhaps a little harder than necessary, and snorted. "You're lucky I like you, mage."

*****

PET PEEVES - Everyone has them. What are the little things which make your character tick? Describe their pet peeves!

Dalaran was a busy city, even for one that was ominously floating above the ground and seemingly had no way of getting up without the use of magic or a flying mount. There was always people about, even in the dead of the night, and so she never could get anything done quickly. There were always people at the stable master, or some terrified citizen demanding to speak to the Kirin Tor and creating a scene because they saw fel green again and this time they were sure it was a demon in Dalaran.

As such, Krysteena did her best to not go there. If there was an errand to run, she'd usually send someone else to do it, because that was usually a lot easier than having to deal with it herself. However, on this particular day, no one was around to do her jobs for her, and she was to undergo the pleasure of being in the busy city to fight for the mailbox. Wonderful.

It was a simple parcel, and so she intended to get in and out quickly. She'd even wager that it could have been delivered to her at the lodge, but that was too inconvenient for the mailman, wasn't it? So, already bitter about her luck that day, Krysteena slunk through the crowds and squeezed through warriors and narrowly missed being pick-pocketed by a couple of rogues. Even the journey to the mailbox was stressful, but, after a painfully long time of pushing through swarms of people, Krysteena could see it, and she almost breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar sight.

Except, she couldn't see it.

Instead of a mailbox, there was an obnoxiously large mammoth.

Krysteena muttered a curse under her breath as she stared at the apparent spectacle. How an adventurer's mammoth had gotten into Dalaran was beyond her knowledge, but obviously the individual had gone with the whole 'mammoths are the best mount for everything, get one now!' deal she had seen being advertised recently. The damn thing was just stood there and, as if knowing Krysteena was behind it, turned around to sniff the air and fix its beady gaze on her. Krysteena narrowed her eyes, and the mammoth seemed to shift ever closer to the mailbox. Now the thing was bending to the side, and she was positive that the mammoth was going to break it soon.

Still it was staring at her, and now the owner (the identity of whom was hidden by their helm) was also turning to look at her. She knew that they knew she needed to get to the mailbox, and she knew that the obstruction was fully intentional. She could only decipher that it was a member of the Alliance (typical), and that they weren't going to move just because she was waiting.

With an irritated huff and a loud sigh, Krysteena straightened herself out and turned on her heel. She then went storming back through the crowd, muttering under her breath in her irritation. She never liked mammoths, and she never understood why they, of all creatures, were allowed into cities. It was rude, inconsiderate, and Krysteena really didn't like mammoths because of all the hair they seemed to leave lying around.

3.) PET PEEVES - Everyone has them. What are the little things which make your character tick? Describe their pet peeves!

"TOBY! I TOLD YOU AND ZEKE TO STAY OUT OF MY ROOM!" Both Worgens' ears perked at the shriek from the hollow tree they'd made their home in, and they glanced at each other with equal looks of terror before the pair shifted into large raven, lifting into the air and squawking in panic as a large, midnight-furred panther bolted out of the tree's entrance and pounced towards them. Her claws missed by mere inches, and both ravens settled into the branches of the tree to watch their enraged sister yowl and snarl below them, her claws slipping against the smooth wood of the tree -- the only thing keeping both of them from becoming cat kibble.

It was only the appearance of their adoptive father, James, that caused Jay to stop clawing up the side of the tree, though it didn't soothe her rage any, and the Worgen let out a small sigh and picked the cat up with some effort, ignoring the indignant protests that escaped her, before carrying her inside. He unceremoniously plopped her on the bed in his room, smoothly shifting into his own cat form, white fur a start contrast against the panther's black as he moved to curl around her. "If you would stop antagonizing them during training, they wouldn't mess with you in return, you know," James rumbled as he rested his chin on top of Jay's head, still ignoring her whined protests.

"They never stop messing with me, no matter what I do!" Jay growled, the pout in her tone extremely obvious. "And they always mess up my altar to Elune too!" The Night Elf's tail lashed slightly, causing James to twitch when it whacked against his haunch. He sighed, knowing how much the Moon Goddess meant to Jay, and tilted his head to nuzzle the top of his adoptive daughter's in an attempt to calm her down.

"Have you tried my suggestion to bond with them over something? They're just teenagers just like you, Jay, they could do with a hobby." At the scoff he got, he moved to gently whack Jay across the nose with his tail. "Goldrinn is special to the both of them, get them interested in their own altars and help them gather items to decorate them. It'll keep them busy, and keep their paws away from your stuff."

The Night Elf grumbled under her breath, but was visibly less irate than she had been before. Making a gruff noise in her throat, she slipped off the bed and padded away with a huffed, "Fine," under her breath, something that caused James to snort. He may have been one in the past, but he would never understand teenagers and their moodiness.

3.) PET PEEVES - Everyone has them. What are the little things which make your character tick? Describe their pet peeves!

The council of the Kirin Tor met far too frequently for Maij's liking. It wasn't as if he didn't have other more important things he could be doing, nor was it like his scant free time was precious to him. So, he found himself once a week brought before the council to account for his use of the power they had gifted him years before.

"So, the lady Windrunner took the void energy into herself?" Meryl Felstorm asked, the implications causing his jaw to drop to the floor. Holding up one finger to ask for a moment, the forsaken mage bent down to pick it back up and reattached it firmly to the rest of his face. "That can't be a good thing."

"I'm not so sure about that anymore," Khadgar said with a pensive frown. "After seeing what Xe'ra tried to do to Illidan I don't know if the light has our best interests in mind. To be honest, I worry that we are merely pawns to the Naaru."

On and on and on it went, the council spending hours going over every little detail of their Guardian's report, only speaking to Maij for a clarification here, or the exact meaning behind his words there. The majority of the time he was left with nothing to do except sit there, listening to them prattle on. As the sun sank below the horizon Maij stood abruptly and stretched, rubbing his poor backside that had fallen asleep on the chair he had sat in.

"Listen," he said l, addressing the council, his nerves frayed to the breaking point. "It's late and I'm tired. You have my report and if you have any questions you can send me a message. I haven't seen my family for the better part of a fortnight and if I know Calita and Nystra I'm not going to get any sleep tonight either. So, unless there is some absolutely imperative reason you need me here, I am going home. Okay?"

"But-"

"Okay, Khadgar!?" Maij snapped, settling his goggles back over his eyes. It wasn't a question. Striding out of the hall, he pushed the doors open and crossed out of the magical interdiction field. Opening a portal to his home with long practiced ease, he stepped through and closed it quickly behind him. If there was one thing he could not stand, it was waisting his time and he was glad to be done with the council and their petty garbage for at least another week. Khadgar was kind of a shit wizard anyway.

The owlcat whined. They could see nothing but darkness, and they were hoping they were asleep.. but that wasn't the case. They expected the nights from now on to be endless and plagued with the inability to sleep... However, they somehow still hoped they could escape the torture and enter their dreams once more. Since communing with the actual Dream was so hard already, they had relied upon their dreams to leave their desolate reality and remain in their own fantasies. Now, they couldn't dream at all, or ever get any rest, and continued to hear the terrible voices coming from who they assumed was N'zoth. The evening ritual did not work, despite the Coalition's- an order Sarnor had become particularly close to- efforts and beliefs that the healers succeeded. And if the voices were not loud enough and excruciating the previous nights, where they tried to take Sarnor over completely before the ritual, they definitely did not relent afterwards.

Though Andrestrasz's company was comforting, it was not enough to keep the druid from bordering insanity. And the others were completely unaware that Sarnor was still suffering. So, at the moment, they seemed to be alone. Then they recalled the events prior to the ritual. One of their other druidic friends, a night elf-worgen, had been tortured by a rogue who ripped off an ear and started attacking him viciously. He assumed that the owlcat was too blind and stupid to notice the poison he put in the other male's wounds, and his "clumsiness", as he put it, by dropping the poor guy onto the stairs and onto plenty of sharp bones. If Sarnor had the time.. they would've beat the hell out of that rogue. And they did after the ritual, breaking his foot, flaying his back, tearing at his throat... They felt proud.. but they could've killed him. Once they thought about it more, the voices became persistent. "You could've helped him.. He didn't need to suffer... And I can help you, if you take my blessing. You will save your friends..."

They were maddening, yet Sarnor felt as if they were being convinced.. They couldn't hold back the strong desire to join the Old God's forces. But they couldn't. They just.. couldn't. They exhaled a small breath, rising into a sitting position. If they couldn't sleep tonight, so be it. The only place they could go to possibly flee the voices was the Dream.. though, they had been meddling in ways to get inside for ages, and they couldn't possibly manage it. They needed to keep training before that. The very fact they were not, as they thought, a good enough druid to enter the Dream yet, sickened them as much as the torture from N'zoth did. It didn't hold them back from trying, though. They were tenacious. At least for everything regarding druidism and relationships, possibly- the voices.. not so much. They desperately wanted to get away, however, with the current failures, they thought it futile.

The white, humongous owlcat decided to get a breather outside. They left the safety of the den, and their dragon, and exited the cave- walking into a rock or too on the way out because of their most recent injuries. They were still getting used to being blind, and the labors of moving around with it. Everything was so much more.. intimidating to them now that all they could see was darkness. They weren't usually like that, but knowing they couldn't know what anyone looked like, unable to determine opponent's weaknesses with their impressive eagle-eyes, and much more had been somewhat menacing to them. Once outside, for the first time in a very long time, the druid's bones cracked and shifted- their form changing, feathers molting away to reveal snowy white fur instead, and giving way to an eleven-foot tall worgen. They could be attractive to both males and females, being well-muscled and bulky, yet slender and feminine- just without breasts.

They adjusted the small Devilsaur skull over their head, and before they knew it, they were already in the bows of a tree. It had been so long since they were primal again.. Not having to worry about anything but survival, and enjoying freedom from being a slave to the world. They rested against one of the branches, perfectly situating their limbs over the others. The moonlight was focused on them, and the view was breathtaking- if only they could see it. Sarnor could honestly get used to this. Feeling the cool breeze on their fur, they were actually completely distracted by the voices in their head. They still couldn't sleep, of course, but they were so soothed in the wilds once more. They were finally happy again, even if it was going to be lost like their sanity soon...

((Going into my character's past a bit for this one. In a time before he became a death knight. ))

The candles on the table flickered in the darkness. All of them had melted down to a pool of wax in their metal holders. They had been burning well through the night and almost into the next day. At the table, General Faileas sat with his head in his hands. He'd been pouring over a heaping stack of paperwork from Undercity all night and had only managed to complete half of it. His mind was elsewhere, still wrapped up in the image of Shimistra lying so still in that bed with pain creasing her forehead. He opened his emerald eyes and ran a hand over his jaw and the harsh stubble that rested there. He desperately needed a shave but he just couldn't bring himself to go about his daily routine. Something deep within him ached and made it hard to focus. He forced himself to sit up and watch one of the candles as its last flickers of life was finally consumed in its own pool of wax. If Shimistra were here with him, this paperwork would have been finished hours ago.

If she were here...

He shook his head to clear it and remembered how his old friend, Ardeth Alexander, had gently prodded him awake after he'd fallen asleep at Shimistra's bedside. Ardeth had told him to leave and get some rest. He'd almost chuckled at that statement. Sure, as if he could rest.

He stood suddenly and in a bout of anger flung his hand over the desk, sending paper, parchment, ink, and scrolls fluttering through the air and scattering across the office floor. He braced both hands on the desk and hung his head as he worked to get a grip on his emotions.

He hated himself for not having been there. For not being able to protect her. He turned and stalked out of the room, grabbing the leather cloak that hung by the door as he did so. He headed out of the guildhall and into the night. Long ago, Shimistra had told him that she used to sneak out at night and hunt the scourge. She'd told him that it had helped ease her mind. He hoped as he swung up into the saddle, that it would do the same for him...

4. SLEEPLESS - Something has caused your character to become sleepless. A bout of insomnia perhaps or maybe they are working through the night on something? This can be anything related to the topic word. Have fun and describe why!

Somewhere in the distance a low howl was sent up, a haunting melody with an unsettling undertone. One of the mountain lions had perhaps been caught in a trap set by a hunter, or a wolf had failed his final hunt, and was echoing out one last call for help.

No answer came, and instead the creature's pained cries went unanswered by everything but itself. One call would be let out, it would echo, and then, just as silence fell, the sound would begin again. It was almost akin to the blowing of the horn that counted the number that had fallen after a battle, but this was just one - for now.

Krysteena sat awake in her bed, left eye twitching with the lack of sleep. Beside her, the candle had long since burnt itself out, and she didn't care to light it again, or even manifest a new candle. While it would have been a lie to say that the animal had awoken her, it was most certainly keeping her awake. She was never one to ignore the hollowing cry of a dying animal and, had it been lighter, she may have headed out to end the pitiful death early. However, if she went out now, Krysteena knew that she could very well end up joining the dying.

Beside her, Felrius gave a low whine, and Krysteena spared him a glance. The wolf had his head raised and cocked to the side, and with every howl from the outside, he moved his head to the other side. Mormont could be seen outside (he usually was outside, since his great bulk couldn't actually fit through the doors of the lodge), pacing, and Krysteena knew that she wasn't alone in the sleeplessness.

That acted as consolidation on its own, and the Blood Elf gave a soft sigh as she moved to get out of the bed and retrieve her bow. While going out into the wilderness would have been stupid, a little training never hurt. Behind her, Felrius seemed to be of the same mentality, and, as the hunter left, her companion followed on her heels.

They'd train together and, hopefully, the creature, whatever creature it was, would have passed by the morning.

(( I'll update this when I've done the next prompt, I haven't forgotten that one ))

Edit:

5. FEAR - Tell a story where your character encounters one of their fears

The air was ripe with the scent of decaying bodies and fel taint, threatening to choke anyone who ventured too far into the sickly green cloud that hung over the landscape. From within the fog were the howls and screams of terrorised citizens and creatures, and the answering call of mocking laughter. People were dying within, and those without could do nothing but stand and watch in horror.

People were dying, and the only thing Krysteena could do was watch.

She was atop her mount; a large and battle-ready wolf that was adorned in specialised armour to withstand the blows of battle. Together they were an unstoppable force, taking down Alliance and all enemies of the Horde without so much as flinching. The Blood Elf had perfected remaining mounted while firing her bow and arrow, and nothing, as of previously, had ever been able to faze her.

Yet, as she sat in the saddle, she felt like a child again. Her hold of the reins loosened, and her grip on the wolf was faltering. Such a beast was never truly bonded to his master, and, should her grip loosen too much, the wolf would take off without her and turn onto the sounds of the battle within the fog. Then she'd be completely defenceless against it all, and, with the rest of her team behind or ahead of her, she'd have no help at all.

But Krysteena couldn't bring herself to tighten her grip, or urge the wolf on and past the fog. Inside her chest, her heart pounded and thumped in fear, and she could have done nothing, in that moment, to move.

People were dying in there. It didn't matter whether they were Horde or Alliance or completely neutral to either faction. There were people in there and, in that moment, they were beyond help. Krysteena was completely helpless to do anything but watch, and she was certain she was making out shapes of twisted forms riding up from the mists and falling upon hapless prey.

Useless. She felt utterly useless. She could very easily have joined the throng of people dying within as the fog began to pulse and expand. In the distance, more screams came up and around, yet she couldn't move. She, too, was becoming hapless prey and, as the fear steadily began to consume her, she believed that she was going to die. Yet, there was nothing she could do about it.

Then, there was a solid weight on her shoulder, a hand, and someone else urged her wolf to keep on moving. Krysteena didn't even turn around to look, trusting that it was one of her companions who had come to help her. Beneath her, her mount was more than happy to begin moving again.

As they moved further away, the screams passed. The sense of dying passed. Even the scent and the fog itself passed, and Krysteena knew that nothing had been there. The scene she'd seen had long been and gone, and now there were only echoes of it within her mind and within the ruined landscape.

Yet, even with that knowledge, Krysteena didn't have the heart to look back.

_________________

Signature by Ashaine <3

Last edited by Krysteena on Sat Oct 07, 2017 8:21 am, edited 1 time in total.

4. SLEEPLESS - Something has caused your character to become sleepless. A bout of insomnia perhaps or maybe they are working through the night on something? This can be anything related to the topic word. Have fun and describe why!

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot...

The Dragonblight was true to its name. The damn icefield was a blight on the already blighted tundra of Northrend. Maij trudged, one weary foot after the other as he cut across the entirely too large country. A few days ago he thought it ridiculously unfair that he couldn't teleport himself to his destination, the Wyrmrest Temple due to the interference of Malygos and the blue flight. It was bad enough that the damn dragons had sucked dry the landscape of it's ambient mana, but after a rather vivid display of what they did to interloping magi he couldn't even risk utilizing his own untapped well of reserved energy. After his gyrocopter iced over in the cold and damp he found himself attempting to cross the distance on foot.

Place one foot down, place the next. Left foot, right foot.

The cold had sapped his strength and even with the heavy winter clothing he wore he could feel the icy fingers of frost slipping in through even the smallest of openings. It was a small miracle that he was wearing his goggles when his 'copter crashed, else the snowblindness would have brought his progress to a lethal halt. As it was, only his prodigious will kept him moving even as every fibre of him ached for rest, for sleep.

Left foot right foot.

The tower of the temple slowly grew in his field of vision. He could finally make out a few of the details with full magnification on his goggles. Hope swelled in him for a fraction of a second. His end goal was finally in sight. It shouldn't be more than another week before he made it. The dragons would no doubt have both the information he needed to find Calita, the opportunity he required to rest, and enough protection for him to teleport himself to a place he didn't have to walk across. All he needed was to make it there.

Darkness descended over the sky. The night was filled with stars and the moon had risen, but there was not enough light to make the eeriness fade away. Elkin shivered in the cold, his small fur not enough to keep him from the temperature of the plains. He had returned to the gravesite of his favorite bear's brother, whom he had never met, yet desired to commune with. He never had much experience with spirits and gods other than his gryphon, Lune, and the wild god Ohn'ahra. Behind him was his former den, and despite the warmth of being home, he was still a bit frightful.

Elkin wasn't a particularly scared worgen, despite his young age and the dangers he encounters everywhere he goes. However, tonight was different.. The fact that he was in a graveyard was already pretty unsettling for him, but because it was cold and dark added to it. Not only that, but some of the only light that penetrated were the eyes of nocturnal predators who were hunting, and all noise was bugs and the cracking of twigs. Elkin was ready to fight, if he could only get the upper hand. He was shivering still as he neared the bear skeleton.

A wind carrying several leaves flew past him. A few got stuck in his mane, remaining tangled in the brown fluffy hair. But the wind simply heightened the new terror. He dropped to his knees before the skeleton and lowered his head. In order to commune, he had to close his eyes... but he dared not to. Eventually his eyes closed, though, and he began to transcend. Not before a fearsome roar pierced his ears...

He didn't want to look. His dread was taking over. "I have to..." he murmured to himself and gave in, opening his eyes. It was nothing so far, until his attention was directed to a nearby hill. There... a giant saber-toothed cat stood, gazing upon him with those chilling, glowing white eyes. It was most likely a species of feral nightsaber. The same kind that killed both Ursot and his brother... Elkin's breath hitched. The horror had taken him over completely. He was unable to move, only stare back at the beast.

In a moment, he could shakily move his limbs again. He reached for his bow and pulled back an arrow. A sound from behind him distracted him and made him look back- only to be nearly frightened to death. The cat showed up just in front of him in that moment, making him fall back and shoot an arrow into the air. What goes up must come down, though. And it did, landing in the beast's shoulder. A small growl passed through its maw, nearly unnafected by the wound. Elkin was now under its massive paws and unable to escape. He cried out desperately- shaking uncontrollably, and his worst fear just before him.

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest

You cannot post new topics in this forumYou cannot reply to topics in this forumYou cannot edit your posts in this forumYou cannot delete your posts in this forumYou cannot post attachments in this forum